Behind the Walls of Winterfell
by better-be-gryffindor
Summary: One-shots of day-to-day situations of the Stark Family of Winterfell.
1. ARYA

**ARYA**

The meals at Winterfell were always little Arya's favorite parts of the day.

The food was always amazing, but it was the family reunion that delighted her more. During meals, girls and boys could sit together, without having to be labeled, without one gender being more important than the other. Arya did not have to be jealous that while the boys trained with weapons she had to have lady lessons.

Robb and Jon, her big brothers, were always making her laugh. Arya admired them so much. She wanted to be just like them when she grew up, not a stupid lady like people wanted her to be. Robb and Jon were the eldest kids, both with ten years old. They were inseparable.

Everyone told Arya that Jon was only her half-brother. A bastard, they called them. She didn't understand the meaning of that, but Arya supposed that was a bad word. _They can call him whatever they want_, Arya thought. Jon was her _brother_, just as much as Robb and Bran were. Nothing would change that.

Arya loved baby Bran. She felt so important, having a little brother to look after. She liked the feeling that she wasn't the youngest in the family anymore. He was only three, two years younger than Arya. And Bran was never annoying, like most of babies were. That was what Arya loved the most about him.

And there was _Sansa_. Arya always spoke of her last, because she was her least favorite sibling. They were too different from each other. Sansa was raised to be the perfect lady. She despised everything Arya enjoyed, like riding, playing with toy weapons and getting dirty. Sansa was annoying and a wonk and ridiculous and irritatingly good at every lady thing she did. Everyone just kept comparing the two of them. How _Arya_ should be more like _Sansa_, how _Arya _should act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, how _Sansa_ was so perfect and beautiful and how _Arya _was not.

Arya just tried to ignore Sansa most of the time. When Robb, Jon, Sansa, Arya and Bran were together, Sansa did not matter to Arya. Her older sister just stayed with her legs and arms crossed all the time while Arya, Bran, Jon and Robb laughed.

Sometimes, Theon Greyjoy sat with them during meals as well. He was her lord father's ward, coming from the Iron Islands. He was five years older than Robb and Jon.

That day he wasn't with them, though. There were only her siblings sitting at the breakfast table. Arya was particularly happy that morning, because Robb had promised to take them to the crypts of Winterfell afterwards.

Only Robb and Jon had been in the crypts before. Arya was particularly curious and excited to go there, and so was baby Bran. Sansa did not want to go (_Coward_, Arya thought), but all Starks must visit the crypts someday. It was part of the history of House Stark.

Arya kept tapping her foot on the ground anxiously, waiting for Robb to finish his meal. Everyone had already eaten.

"Come on, Robb!" Arya said impatiently.

Robb laughed. "Hey, one must not enter the crypts with their stomach empty."

"But then eat faster!" Arya told him. "I want to go _now_!"

"Aren't you afraid to go there, little sister?" Jon asked her.

"Of course not," Arya said. "The crypts are a part of Winterfell, and Winterfell doesn't scare me. Nothing scares me."

Robb's eyes shone with pride. Jon smiled and messed with Arya's hair. "What a courageous little sister."

Sansa rolled her eyes and sighed with frustration. "A lady must not have her hair messy," she said.

Arya was going to answer back, but then she had another idea. She started to mess with Sansa's impeccable hairdo. She screamed and Arya laughed.

"You idiot!" Sansa cried, covering her bright ginger hair, now ruined. "My hair! Arya, I hate you!"

Arya was laughing so hard that she wasn't even listening her sister complain. Even Robb, Jon and Bran were laughing.

"Come on," Robb said, standing up. "I'm done here. Let's go to the crypts."

Arya and Bran screamed with delight, "YAY!"

"I will warn Father about where we are going," Jon said.

Robb, Sansa, Arya and Bran went towards the crypts. Arya could barely contain her excitement. She and Bran talked non-stop all the way about what they expected to see down there. Robb was finding their conversation very amusing, but Sansa just kept a straight face. _She must be trying to contain her fear_, Arya thought. She found her sister very stupid for fearing the crypts.

Going down the stairs, Robb went first, then Arya, Bran and Sansa at last. They only had one candle to illuminate the way.

Bran's eyes got as big as saucers as he stared at the stone faces of the Kings of Winter, with their wolves at their feet and their iron swords across their laps. His curiosity made Arya smile.

Robb took them all the way down to the end, past Grandfather and Brandon and Lyanna.

"Our own tombs will go here when we die," Robb said, pointing to empty tombs. "We will have our own statues, like all the Starks that lived and died."

"Will we be as great as Grandfather, Brandon and Lyanna?" Arya asked Robb.

He smiled. "Starks are born to do great things."

Sansa kept looking at the stubby little candle, anxious that it might go out. "Old Nan told me that there are spiders down here, and rats as big as dogs," she said, trembling.

Robb smiled. "There are worse things than spiders and rats," he whispered. "This is where the dead walk."

That was when they heard the sound, low and deep and shivery. Baby Bran clutched at Arya's hand. She squeezed it tight, trying to calm him down. She pricked her ears up, seeking for another sound.

Then a spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood. Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb's leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour.

"You stupid," she told him, very mad, "you scared the baby." But Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too.

"Come on," Jon said, trying to control himself, "let's find Sansa."

"Poor thing," Robb said. He couldn't stop laughing.

"She must be almost reaching Moat Cailin by now," Arya said, and everyone started to laugh even harder. Robb and Jon went towards the stairs, still laughing a bit, and Arya got Bran's hand and followed them.

—

**A/N: Hello! I've always wanted to write something about the Stark family, so here it is :) I love them so much! I based this on what Arya said about this day in the book A Game of Thrones. Thoughts? Xoxox.**


	2. JON

**JON**

It was a bright summer morning in the yard of Winterfell. Little Jon Snow had been practicing with his half-brother Robb and the ward Theon when Ser Rodrik Cassel, the Master-at-Arms, approached.

"My children," he said, nodding to them. "We have caught an outlaw. Lord Stark commands that you attend to see the king's justice done."

"Our first beheading!" Robb said with delight, patting Jon and Theon on the shoulders. "Father thinks we are old enough for it!"

"I hope the head rolls near me!" Theon said, his eyes shining with the perspective of that happening.

Jon, however, hesitated. Ser Rodrik noticed.

"What is it, Jon?" he asked gently.

Jon looked at his feet and then back at Ser Rodrik. "Father has requested _my_ presence?"

"Your lord father gave me clear orders," said Ser Rodrik, cuddling the top of Jon's head. "He commanded me to come to get his two sons and his ward to watch the beheading. Why would you have doubts?"

Jon did not answer. Even with his seven years of age, he was quite aware that he was treated differently. Eddard Stark, the great Lord of Winterfell, was his father… but Lady Catelyn was not his mother. That made him a bastard.

_I am not a Stark_, he often reminded himself. He must not forget. No one _let _him forget. 'Snow' was a bastard surname. _Snow, not Stark. _He was Jon Snow, not Jon Stark.

Lord Eddard was a good father. He had even raised his bastard, which was not very common. Jon was grateful for that. And most of people at Winterfell were nice to him. Especially the Starks. His uncle Benjen, from the Night's Watch, stopped by every now and then and was very kind. He and Robb were inseparable. Little Sansa was only four years old, but she was a sweetling towards him. Even baby Arya loved to be around him. All Starks treated him well… except for Lady Catelyn.

Jon had learned not to cross paths with his lord father's wife. Lady Catelyn looked at him with a palpable iciness on her eyes. She knew he was her husband's son with another woman. She could not stand Jon for it.

It was not Jon's fault, though. He had never asked to be born a bastard. So why did everybody taunt him about it? All that he wanted was to be loved.

"Come on, boys," Ser Rodrik insisted. "Lord Stark is waiting."

Theon and Robb followed Ser Rodik to the stables, chatting cheerfully about their expectations for the beheading. Jon walked beside them in silence. He listened part of the conversation, anything about Theon being the one to carry the sword that was going to kill the outlaw, Lord Stark's sword.

Robb realized that Jon was too quiet. He stopped talking and looked at Jon, seeming truthfully worried. "Jon, what is the matter? You look pale."

_Pale as snow. Yes, that certainly suits me well. _"I am fine," he lied. "Tired, that is all."

"You nervous, Snow?" said Theon Greyjoy, smiling in a cocky way. "Hope you don't faint after your father cut that man's head off and let it perish in a pool of blood."

Jon ignored him. Theon was five years older than him and Robb, and he was one of those that constantly teased Jon for being a bastard. Jon never understood it, though, because Theon was not a Stark either, just like Jon. _But being a ward is way better than being a bastard._

The stableboy, a giant called Hodor, had saddled three horses for Robb, Theon and Jon. The three of them and Ser Rodrik rode towards the main gates, where Lord Eddard and the men of his guard awaited.

They rode towards the place where the man had been taken, outside a small holdfast in the hills. Jon was half excited, half nervous. He was happy that his father thought he was mature enough to see a beheading, but he was also apprehensive. What if he _did _faint, like Theon had suggested? If he could not handle it, his father would get disappointed.

Robb caught up with him with his horse. He was still smiling, but Jon could see that his nervousness was starting to show up. "I heard Jory say that the man is a wildling," he told Jon.

The things Maester Luwin had taught him about the wildlings came to Jon's mind. They had their swords sworn to Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall. Everything north of the Wall — the Free Cities and the rest — was not part of the Seven Kingdoms, so they had their own king.

Jon remembered the hearth tales Old Nan told them. The wildlings were cruel men, she said, slavers and slayers and thieves. They consorted with giants and ghouls, stole girl children in the dead of night, and drank blood from polished horns. And their women lay with the Others in the Long Night to sire terrible half-human children. Jon's skin prickled.

"We only remember Old Nan's stories when we least need them," he told Robb, smiling nervously.

Robb nodded. Jon noticed that he was trembling while clutched at the reins of his horse. But Jon himself was shivering, despite the fact that it was a warm summer day.

When they arrived, the man was bound hand and foot to the holdfast wall awaiting the king's justice. His clothes were torn almost completely, his face was dirty and he smelled horribly.

Lord Stark's men gathered around while the man was dragged before them. Jon, Robb and Theon were side-by-side on their horses. They were the youngest there. All three of them were stretching their backs, trying to look older than they were. Theon had on his hands Lord Eddard's sword, called Ice. It was as wide across as a man's hand, and taller even than Theon himself. The blade was Valyrian steel, spell-forged and dark as smoke. Nothing held an edge like Valyrian steel. Over their heads flapped the banner of the Starks of Winterfell: a grey direwolf racing across an ice-white field.

Jon observed his father. He sat solemnly on his horse, his brown hair grease from the heat, subtle drops of sweat resting on his forehead. His face was long and kind, most of the time. That day, though, he had a hard expression. And his eyes… _The eyes are the windows to the soul_, Jon recalled. Eddard Stark always had a grim cast in his eyes when he had to behead someone. Some people enjoyed killing. Lord Stark did not.

There was a kind of little trial, but Jon did not pay attention. He was too anxious. He didn't even discover what crime the wildling had committed after all. Finally his lord father gave a command, and two of his guardsmen dragged the ragged man to the ironwood stump in the center of the square. They forced his head down onto the hard black wood.

Lord Eddard Stark dismounted and Theon hurried to jump off his own horse. He almost ran to Lord Stark and handed him Ice anxiously.

Jon's father peeled off his gloves and handed them to Jory Cassel, the captain of his household guard. He took hold of Ice with both hands and said, "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die." He lifted the greatsword high above his head.

Jon's heart started to race. He thought about looking at Robb, but he decided not to do that. He was afraid that, if he looked away for a moment, he would not look back at the man again. He held firmly the reins of his horse and concentrated on not looking away. He somehow knew that his lord father would know if he did.

Lord Stark took off the man's head with a single sure stroke. Blood sprayed out across the grass, as red as wine. Jon had never seen such red blood.

Beside him, Robb set his jaw tightly. He looked a little pale. Jon knew that Robb also had not looked away.

The head rolled. It came up near Theon, as he was hoping. He did not seem as delighted as this morning, though. Now he seemed even nauseous. _Who is going to faint now, Greyjoy? _Jon thought. Theon forced a smile and kicked the head away.

On the ride back to Winterfell, the sun was higher in the sky, increasing the heat. Robb and Lord Eddard rode side-by-side, talking. Jon rode alone, just watching they talk without hearing the words, but he knew his father was probably asking Robb if he was well. He felt a little bitter.

Jon rode gloomily for minutes, lost deeply in thoughts, when a voice startled him. "It should be illegal to leave a child with such sad face."

He looked up. His lord father was beside him. Jon got surprised to see him, and that did not escape Lord Eddard's eyes. "You thought I would not worry about you." It was a statement, not a question.

Jon got uncomfortable. He felt ashamed for thinking such thing about his father. "I am sorry, Father," he said.

Lord Stark did not seem angry or disappointed, though. "I worry about you, Jon. You are my son. It does not matter what people say you are. You are mine. Always remember that."

Jon nodded, trying not to blush.

"Are you well, then?" his father asked kindly.

"Yes, Father," Jon said.

"Good," Lord Eddard said, smiling proudly. "You have the profile of a future lord, son."

Jon felt sad again. "But I cannot be a lord, Father. I am not a Stark."

His lord father's smile disappeared. He hesitated. "Jon, do you know what?"

Jon raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Blood is often what determinates power, it is true," his father said, "though our wits, honor and leadership, for instance, also count on that matter. When you become the great man I know you are going to be, no one is going to care about your blood."

Jon hesitated. "Really?"

"Really."

On the next moment, Robb was riding beside Jon. He seemed recovered from the beheading already. "Hey, Jon, I was thinking…" Then he noticed his father. "Oh. I am sorry, Father. Did I interrupt something important?"

"Not to worry, Robb," Lord Stark said. "Jon and I are done talking. Am I right, son?"

"Yes, Father," Jon said.

Lord Eddard patted Jon on the shoulders, winked at Robb and rode off to catch up with Jory Cassel.

"What were you talking about?" Robb asked with wide eyes.

Jon grinned involuntarily. "Nothing. Nothing important."

Robb frowned. "I do not like this grin, Snow."

"Whatever, Stark."

Robb smiled. "Race you to the bridge?"

Jon grinned even more. "The last one is a beheaded man." Jon kicked his horse forward. Robb followed. Both of them were laughing and hooting, smiling and cheering.

Back at Winterfell, it was lunchtime. Jon sat with Robb, Theon, little Sansa and baby Arya. As none of them was paying attention to him, Jon took the opportunity to think about his father and the little conversation they had. Now he understood that he was a bastard, yes, but his father also suffered for _having _a bastard. After he understood that, Lord Stark seemed much more relatable than ever.

In that moment, just in that moment, Jon Snow did not feel that he was The Bastard of Winterfell. He felt he was home.


End file.
